


The Post-lunch Lieutenant

by verushka70



Category: due South
Genre: BDSM, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-11-28
Updated: 1999-11-28
Packaged: 2018-11-10 09:07:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11124117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verushka70/pseuds/verushka70
Summary: Fraser. Ray. Dominant. Submissive. Holding the leash -- wearing a collar. Oxygen deprivation. And a voyeur?





	The Post-lunch Lieutenant

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Due South Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/duesoutharchive).
> 
> The sequel to this is [Okay All Right](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11124141).

The Post-Lunch Lieutenant

The idea for this seized me in the form of one image: naked lovely RayK, sitting on a hardwood floor, eyes closed, wearing only a black leather collar with an attached chain... and someone repeatedly stroking their hand through his spiky hair. 

Disclaimer: Alliance/Atlantis own Fraser and Ray... too bad. 

Pairing/rating: F/K NC-17 

Warnings: Bondage, oxygen deprivation, Fraser dominant, Ray submissive. 

  


#### The Post-lunch Lieutenant

He can see them. He can see the whole scene, but they don't know he's there. How he manages this, since his vision of it is unobscured, doesn't matter. Welsh can see it, and that's all that matters. 

He sees Ray naked. The detective sits on the floor, between his coffee table and the overstuffed chair. His legs are crossed tailor-style and his hands are clasped in his lap. His left side is against the chair, his head pillowed sideways on the seat of the chair. Eyes closed. Blond spikes unmoving. A black collar circles his throat very snugly, but not pulling or creasing the skin. It is not studded. It is not spiked. It is a simple, black leather collar, snugly around Ray's throat. 

A chain is attached to an eye on the back of the collar. Not a heavy chain, no. More like you'd use for a large dog, but not what you'd use to chain the gate of a parking lot or junk yard. The links are each maybe the size of a finger tip. Tempered stainless steel, silver and shiny. The glistening chain follows a sinuous line down his back, where it pools in a small, glittering pile behind Ray's narrow buttocks. The other end snakes over to the old, iron radiator, where it is attached. The blond man's lean back shows every vertebra. He looks simultaneously vulnerable yet content. 

Fraser is lying on the sofa, reading a book. One would certainly never guess he'd be the type to have his booted feet up on the sofa, but he does. One concession to neatness is that his feet hang over the sofa arm, not actually touching the sofa. He lies there, in his riding pants with the yellow stripe, feet up, suspenders on over his white Henley. And then he looks over at Ray. He looks for a moment, then looks back at his book. But eventually he rests the book face down on his chest and looks back over at Ray. Finally he sets the book on the coffee table. 

Ray doesn't move, but there is a sudden alertness to his body that wasn't there before Fraser placed the book on the coffee table. Nothing has changed about his posture; and yet it has changed. 

The Mountie, after setting the book down, swings his legs down and sits upon the sofa. He tilts his head slightly, contemplating his partner from behind. Then he stands up and steps the few steps over to the chair. 

He reaches down to the floor and picks up the chain. He holds it with his left hand, taught from the radiator. Then he coils it around his other hand slowly, until all the slack is up off the floor and the chain is taut between his hand and the collar encircling Ray's neck. The detective's head comes up now, but he does not turn around. He only raises his head. But now his eyes open, and he licks his lips nervously before shutting them again. His elbows barely shake -- his hands are still clasped in his lap. 

Fraser tugs on the chain gently, then with more and more pressure, forcing Ray's head back. The blond detective tilts his head back and back and back, until his throat is fully exposed, straining at the collar, Adam's apple pointing up to the ceiling. The tendons in his neck stand out, but he does not move anything but his head and neck. 

Satisfied, the Mountie releases some of the tension. But though the chain hangs somewhat slack now, rather than being stretched tight, Ray doesn't move his head. 

The Constable kneels behind his partner, still holding the chain in his right hand. The links, now cool because they haven't been lying along Ray's back, graze his flesh again, and gooseflesh appears on his back. Fraser strokes Ray's hair with his left hand, from Ray's hair line back across the crown of his head, and down. Then he does it again. And again. And again. 

The fifth time, he stops his stroke at the top and back of Ray's head and grasps a handful of Ray's hair. The detective cannot tilt his head back any farther without falling backward. The Mountie knows this. He brings one knee up, so that he kneels on only his left knee. He turns his raised knee out, like a dancer, so that his thigh is angled to the side, rather than straight out in front of him. Then he tightens his hand in Ray's hair and pulls the detective's head back farther, forcing Ray to arch backward over the black-clad thigh in the middle of his back. 

The detective lays back, uncomfortable as it is, against Fraser's thigh. He knows better than to put his hands out to steady him and his eyes remain closed. His only points of contact now are his ass and legs on the hardwood floor, his back arched over the thick thigh, and his head held by the hair, by Fraser's hand. He doesn't open his eyes. He lets his body go limp and lets his clasped hands rise slightly to just above his genitals, as they must when his torso is stretched backwards this way. 

Fraser pulls Ray's head back, arching the tawny blonde's torso more sharply over his thigh. 

And then he leans down and slightly over. He kisses the detective's chest softly. The chain is slack, his hand is tight in the blond hair, the lean man is arched backward; and every rib shows. 

But still Fraser's mouth moves slowly and sensually over the blond man's chest, to his nipples for kisses that become sucking that becomes gentle biting and worrying the flesh. He moves his mouth up along Ray's collarbone... and up his neck to the collar. To where Ray's Adam's apple juts just above the collar. Fraser kisses it. 

And then he pulls back. 

"Unclasp your hands," he whispers. 

The detective obeys immediately, letting his hands fall to the floor beside him, but not such that they are supporting his weight. Most of his body weight rests over Fraser's thigh now. 

The Mountie lets the chain drop, and the metallic sound as it hits the floor causes Ray to shiver slightly. Fraser strokes the hand not in Ray's hair down over the detective's lean torso. Over the lean concavity between Ray's rib cage and his hip bones. And strokes again, and again. From the detective's collarbone to the top of the curly blond hair that darkens below his navel. 

And then, on the last stroke, the hand descends all the way to Ray's already hardening cock. It encircles the stiffening member, and squeezes it. Painfully hard. 

The tendons bunch in Ray's neck and his Adam's apple moves. But he makes no sound and does not open his eyes. 

Fraser's mouth is on his neck again, kissing, nuzzling, moving up to the pliant mouth. He kisses Ray's mouth softly. Sweat has begun to appear on the Mountie's upper lip and brow. He has begun to stroke the detective's cock. Tight, rough strokes. 

"Kiss me back," he whispers. And then the mouth under his moves, the lips purse and part. Their tongues touch. And then their mouths part. Ray's mouth is slack now, awaiting further kisses. 

Then, with the hand holding him arched backward by the hair, Fraser pushes the blond head up and away from him, until Ray sits straight up on his buttocks again. 

The hands Ray holds limply at his sides hesitantly position themselves, palms down, to support some of his weight. 

In the absence of Ray's hair, Fraser has picked up the chain again. Tightened it so there is no slack, but not so it pulls Ray's head back. He stands up, keeping the hand with the chain at about hip level so the tautness does not change. 

Then he jerks the chain hard, once. Ray's head jerks back slightly in response. "Open your eyes and untie my boots," Fraser whispers. 

Ray uncrosses his legs and gets on his knees. He opens his eyes and turns to face Fraser's legs, but he does not look up at his lover. He begins untying the long brown laces, loosening and slackening them, rather than completely unlacing the boots. The first few rows of eyelets are unlaced; but the rest are just loosened, and he works the leather apart with nimble fingers, until both of Fraser's calves are only loosely encased by the boots. 

The Mountie sits down on the overstuffed chair. He tightens the chain with a sharp jerk again, but only for a second. Ray lurches slightly toward his lover. 

"Take them off me." 

Ray, still keeping his eyes lowered, lifts first one booted leg and then the other, removing both boots. He gets on his hands and knees to move them, setting them in front of the coffee table. Fraser does not give him any slack and the collar is pulled tight while Ray moves the boots out of their way. 

Then he returns to sit on his haunches in front of Fraser. 

"Closer," the Mountie says, tugging on the chain. He pulls and pulls, the collar tight against the back of Ray's neck, until Ray's chest is against his knees. And then he parts his legs and yanks the chain so that Ray's torso is between his knees. Ray's hands involuntarily come up to Fraser's thighs for support. 

But with the other hand, the Mountie strokes Ray's hair again, as if caressing a cat. Ray keeps his eyes lowered -- not hard to do since he stares at the fly of Fraser's riding pants, the bulge he sees in the loose fabric, the hardness he is so familiar with and yet is new and lovely every time. The dual pressures of the chain pulling on his throat, and the hand caressing his hair keep his posture in a push-pull rigidity. 

Then, Fraser loosens the chain and draws it aside. He rests the hand that holds it on the arm of the chair. He strokes the detective's hair one more time... then strokes the blonde's cheek. His hand goes under Ray's chin and tilts the detective's face up. 

"Look at me," he commands. 

And Ray's eyes meet his. The detective shuts his mouth to prevent his lower lip trembling. His eyes are dark and the pupils are dilated, widened with desire and excitement. 

"You know what to do," Fraser whispers, stroking Ray's cheek once more and then chucking the detective under the chin. 

Then he puts that hand up on the arm of the chair, still holding the chain slackly. He leans back fully in the chair. 

The detective has begun unbuttoning and unzipping his fly, and then pulls down the boxers that encase the Constable's hard, oozing cock. Fraser helpfully scoots his buttocks closer to the edge of the chair seat. 

Then Ray bends his head down and begins the oral worship he has been so well-trained for... and so gladly performs. 

Fraser leans his head back, sighing gustily. Ray's mouth is so perfect and skilled. The Mountie squeezes his eyes once, then lets his face relax. The excitement spirals up in him, like a spring uncoiling from his pelvis. He lifts his head to watch Ray suck his cock. He watches the organ disappear between those lips, stretched over Ray's teeth. He feels the tongue swirl around the head of his cock. He slouches slightly in the chair, leaning his head back again and closing his eyes. The talent with which Ray fellates him is supreme... but then, Ray was trained for this. 

The detective's hands work the boxers down farther while he sucks, so that he can bring Fraser's balls out of his pants and underwear. He strokes them and squeezes them and pulls them slightly away from Fraser's body -- all the while stroking up and down the shaft with his mouth, relaxing the muscles in the back of this throat so that his lips can go all the way to press against the dark, curly hair at the base of Fraser's cock. The collar used to interfere with this, but Ray has come to learn all the distinct and different muscles in his neck and throat. He knows which ones to use and how to tighten or slacken them without affecting the other muscles they are attached to. He has learned. He has been very patiently taught. 

Fraser slides one hand down between them, to stroke over Ray's chest, to gently and then, harder, pinch Ray's nipple. Then he strokes the detective's head again, over the soft wheat spikes. His hand stops at the back of Ray's head. Gently he pulls the detective down fully on his cock. Ray goes down willingly, but now Fraser's hand holds him there. The constable thrusts and simultaneously pulls Ray's head tighter to him. He feels his cock hit the back of Ray's throat, the pressure, the convulsion of Ray's throat around the head. He does it again, and again. Ray's eyes tear but he makes no sound and does not resist. 

Soon enough Fraser is ready for more. He strokes Ray's hair once again, and then twines his fingers in it, gently pulling Ray's head back again. The detective's lips slide over the withdrawing shaft until his mouth gives up the head with a wet smack. Ray takes deep breaths, for he had not been able to breathe at all while throating Fraser's cock that way. He blinks away the involuntary tears. 

"Good, Ray, so very good," Fraser murmurs, stroking the soft spikes once. Then he wipes the tears from first one eye, with the knuckle of his hand; and then the other eye, with his thumb. He had never let go of the chain and now he tightens it. 

The detective waits patiently. 

"Let's switch places," Fraser says huskily. Ray looks up again, meeting Fraser's eyes, and the want and desire and need and joy of serving Fraser, of letting Fraser use him however he wants, is evident in his eyes, in his expression. 

He sits back, and waits on his knees and haunches until Fraser is standing. Only then does he stand. 

And that's when Fraser drops the chain and takes him into his arms for a slow and deepening kiss. Ray knows Fraser is approaching his needy edge. He can not wait. He arms wrap tightly around Fraser's broad, sturdy back. Fraser's tongue enters his mouth, and he sucks it, only to have the tip of his own tongue sucked into Fraser's mouth. The lips press and purse against his more harshly. 

And then Fraser is stepping back, taking Ray by the shoulders and moving the blond in front of the chair. The chain hangs from Ray's collar, and Fraser lets it hang for now. 

"You know what to do," he whispers, and Ray sits down on the overstuffed chair. After being on the hard, cool floor for so long; and then having nothing but air around them, the feel of the fabric on his buttocks is soft and silky. He scoots his ass to the edge of the chair and spreads his legs. 

Fraser is watching, and while he watches, he slides out of his suspenders. Ray has his tailbone to the edge of the chair cushion, and his back slouched down against the rest of the cushion. His back is almost flat against the chair seat, except that his shoulders, neck and head are awkwardly upright, against the back of the overstuffed chair. 

The Mountie's suspenders now dangle at his sides and back, and he peels off his Henley shirt and puts it on the sofa. His cock, still hard, sticks out of his riding pants and boxers, but he pushes both down to fully free his cock and balls, exposing his buttocks in the process. 

He kneels in front of the chair. Then Ray lifts his legs and Fraser's arms come up under his knees. He pulls the detective's ass towards him by grasping his thighs, and moves his knees to get closer to the chair. 

His cock quivers in the hot cleft of Ray's buttocks. The detective's balls dangle above and their velvety heat grazes the head of his cock. Ray's eyes, so blue, so wide with desire, are pinned to his. Fraser lifts Ray's legs so the detective's calves are on his shoulder. And then he picks up the chain running slackly alongside Ray's body in the chair. 

He pulls it tight, yanking the chain under Ray's back, between the detective's back and the chair seat. Because it is fastened to an eye on the back of Ray's collar, pulling it tight causes the detective's back to arch. As his back arches, his pelvis is thrust forward farther. His legs are pressed back at a sharper angle... his buttocks vent farther apart. 

The chain runs under Ray's back, and Fraser wraps the slack around his fingers. Then, he pulls Ray's buttocks apart with a thumb on either side, exposing the hole. 

The Mountie guides the head of his cock to the hot little hole. They used to use lubricant, in the beginning, until Ray was widened enough and used to it. Now Ray prefers the roughness. A touch of saliva; that's it. 

And then Fraser whispers, "Stroke yourself." 

And his submissive lover obeys. 

With that, the Mountie thrusts hard into the detective's backside. Again the tawny man's throat works but he does not cry out. With a grip hard enough to leave bruises where his fingertips have been, Fraser holds Ray's hips and thrusts madly, rapidly, deeply. All the while the chain is coiled round his hand. The links begin making impressions on Ray's bony hip. Periodically, while fucking the beautiful slim ass that parts so willingly for him, Fraser yanks the chain tighter and coils another loop of the chain around his hand, before replacing his hand where it holds Ray's narrow hip. Ray's back arches into a sharper curve with each yank. 

Soon Ray is arched like a bow. His throat works and his breathing is labored and hissing. His eyes are squeezed shut tight. His hand roughly works his own cock; and the fingers of the other hand dig into the upholstered chair back above his head. 

Fraser watches carefully as he fucks his partner. When he feels Ray's muscles begin tightening around his cock, he releases his grip on the detective's hips. He slides his arm up under Ray's curved back and grabs the chain much higher up. Now his grip on the metal links is much closer to where they connect to the collar, higher up by Ray's neck. With the other hand, he grasps Ray by the hip and fucks him even harder. 

"Stroke, Ray -- stroke..." he barks hoarsely... and he steadily pulls on the chain, watching carefully as Ray's throat works and listening to the detective's hissing breath become ever thinner and finally silent. The detective's rhythm on his own cock slackens, and Fraser takes over, stroking it hard and rough, fucking Ray's ass deep and fast, holding the detective arched by the chain in his fist. 

Then it begins. He feels the hard, tight squeeze of Ray's spasming ass on his cock, and the detective's cock shivers, spitting liquid over his fingers once, twice, again, again \-- while his ass clenches on Fraser's cock. Choked near-silent moans shake Ray's body. 

In his supreme control, the Mountie slowly slackens the chain in his hand, until he hears the hissing breath return and the moans become vocal. The blessed return of air to Ray's lungs allows for more coherent babble now. 

"Fraser -- oh God -- Fraser \-- fuck -- Fraser -- yer so good -- to -- to me -- Fraser--" whispered feverishly, followed by a sob of pleasure and rushing breaths and gasps. 

And now Fraser starts to let himself go. 

"Ray -- squeeze --" 

The fluttery post-orgasmic twitches of Ray's ass around his cock strengthen as the detective obeys his last command, clenching his ass hard and intentionally around Fraser's cock. Fraser feels himself begin to come. The tactile rush of thrusting, the friction, his partner's moans and rasping breath \-- these all twine together in an upward spiral, inside and outside, until the semen jets out of him. He moans with each spurt into Ray's ass. The sweat runs down his back, down his chest, down his temples, and he shakes with orgasm. With every spasm, he falls farther and farther forward. His thighs tremble, his knees suddenly feel the hardness of the wooden floor underneath them and the ache of his weight and the force of his thrusts. 

Finally, unable to hold himself up any longer, he collapses on top of Ray, his cock still deep in the detective. Ray's knees are forced back towards his armpits until Fraser wriggles his shoulders out from under the detective's legs. The Mountie feels the stickiness between them and lays his head on the wet chest of his partner. He releases the chain completely and slips his other arm around and under his blond partner, to hold Ray to him tighter. 

Ray legs loosely circle Fraser's torso, and he strokes the short, dark, damp hair of the head on his chest. His collar is now as loose as it ever gets. Tired but deeply satisfied, he kisses the top of Fraser's head. He is soaked with sweat and happily pinned under the bulk of his similarly dripping partner. Fraser pants, catching his breath. Ray can feel the Mountie's cock softening ticklishly in his ass. Soon it will slip out. 

He can hear their breathing slow and the ticking of the radiator as they lie quietly and feel the prickle of evaporating sweat. 

"Lieutenant," comes a strident voice. Lieutenant Welsh almost falls backward off his chair, opening his eyes in a disoriented haze, recalling sweat -- motion -- chain -- a black collar -- Ray's hair being stroked like a cat, a large and leonine and collared and chained pet for the Mountie with those strong legs, those broad shoulders. 

Did he fall asleep? Was he just daydreaming? Yeah... the post-lunch food coma. Damn! 

He rights himself quickly, almost falling forward on his desk, and looking up. He feels the heat in his cheeks. 

"Inspector Thatcher," Welsh says, his voice cracking as he loosens his collar and looks up from his desk at the dark haired woman with the snapping brown eyes. Her mouth is set in a firm line. 

"Where are Constable Fraser and Detective Vecchio?" 

_Oh, if you only knew where they just were_ , Welsh thinks. He takes a deep breath to compose himself before he answers with the much more boring truth. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
end.  
  
  
  
  
Verushka 


End file.
